Even After Everything
by l.h. Zein
Summary: She's blind with anger, but it's mostly pain lacing her tongue. Tears long since shed are pooling at her eyes, but she refuses, will not entertain the notion, that she may cry. "You, who gave me dominion over a sacred right, marriage, all the while knowing my own was the biggest farce in history, how are you not to blame?"
They whisper deadly. In truth, they whisper many things, most of which are too sensitive for innocent ears. Her heels are too high to be considered proper courtroom attire, but she's bribed the judge with information about his 'affairs'. She could come to court naked, and no one would dare say a word. She breathes the courtroom, loves the law. She's tried everything; robbery, murder, abuse, everything except divorce. That particular subject hits far too close to home for comfort.

She sits back in her chair waiting for the jury to return with their decision. She steals a glance at her client. Young. Fiery. The girl's got spunk. Her boss had been flirting with her, and for the sake of her career she'd left her responses vague and with much to be desired. When he passed her over for another employee, she'd plotted. It was amazing how much you could find from personal accounts and business calls. Hera kept the smile in her eyes when the jury hands in their verdict. Another one down.

Her shoes are the first thing off when she gets home. It's a house too big for one, but too small for a Queen. She doesn't mind it much. Last century, she'd played the heiress card and ended up with mansions across the globe. The number of homes hadn't changed the feelings that washed over her when she stayed within the walls. Empty. Her answering machine blinks with messages.

Demeter is first, inviting her to dinner. The harvest season had just begun and of course she had to find some time to sample her personal favorites this year. Hestia was next, saying she expected her at their sisters this Saturday. The next she's nearly floored at the similarity in voices. Her heart had quickened, and she's revolted by the sheer force of emotion that had gripped her at the first syllable, but it was all for not. It wasn't him. Instead it was Ares, with his monthly check in. There's one last message, but she skips it. She stares at her machine. It's only when the lights flicker that she sighs and stretches, forcing a thin grin on her face. Not this time.

Hephaestus has a house on the fringe of the art district. Quite modern, nothing like the classical columns and arching ceilings from their past. No. Her son had distanced himself from that. It was his design. She'd known the moment she'd first driven passed it. She'd asked Aphrodite for confirmation. She's nervous though as she waits on the doorstep. She tightens her grip against the cake box in her hand. It's quite comical really, she, who inspired fear and devotion with just the syllables of her name, who practically coined the phrase a women scorned, is trembling at the mere thought of finally being allowed into her son's home. Aphrodite answers. She's actually grateful for it. Her anxiety must be coming off in waves, because Aphrodite simply smiles in greeting, taking the cake out of her hands. She's led through the foyer and into a living room.

She's alone, and occupies herself by drifting through the artwork hung on the wall. She smiles as she notices the symbols in each painting. One for each. A representative of their eternally messy family. She feels him before the sounds of his footsteps are audible. She turns to him, and he has a familiar looking bottle of wine in hand. He's careful in his walk over, the limp ever present. She grimaces at the delayed shuffle in an otherwise graceful movement. She ignores it and focuses on the rest of him. Centuries since the last time she'd seen him, and he is still the same. He's always looked like her, and for some reason, tonight, she seems to be acutely aware of how their facial structures are mirrored, the dark brown hair on his head, cheek bones, and the slope of her nose. There's nothing of his father. Almost nothing. It's the eyes. Those two orbs filled with storm that had tempted first her and then a thousand more. She's snapped back to the present, when he finally breaks the silence.

"Hello Mother."

She blinks and he's wrapped in her arms. "Hello Darling."

They nurse through the bottle like it's nothing. An apology here or there, but nothing too serious, not for the first meeting anyway. At least that's what she planned, but she can't stop herself before the question she's been pondering since she learned of their reconciliation is forced from her lips. "How do you bare it, knowing everything that has happened between you both?"

His eyes drift to his wife. 'I take solace in the fact that despite everything, she always came back to me. She still chose me." Hera frowns. He senses her ambivalence. He smiles slightly to her. "It's different, loving someone like her. Everything they feel is different. You can't force them to change that which makes them who they are."

"And what of us. What are we?"

He steals another look at Aphrodite, hunched over the table clearing plates. It's endearing, how domestic they are in that moment. Hera shift uncomfortably, focusing her eyes on the abstract sculpture in the corner. "Loyal." She turns back to him at the word. "Loyal." he repeats, licking his lips.

She keeps few friends, none mortal. Defend them. Protect them. Appreciate their virtues. Though, she could never befriend them. What common ground could they have? Iris meets her in the gardens. She's clutching two Venti Starbucks cups of dark poison, likely spiked with something special from Dionysus. She takes hers silently as they walk, ignoring the looks of the humans as they eye her Jimmy Choo's. "You can ask about him if you wish." Iris says taking a long swing. Hera scoffed. "You don't have more important matters to worry about?" It's true. In this modern age, Iris and Hermes seemed to never rest, busy for every hour of the day and every day of the year. Iris smiles sweetly, though there's a hint of venom. She feels slightly proud at the sight. "The beauty of delegating. You taught me that." They don't say anything for the rest of their time. She stops at a tree planted in the center. It jolts her, the resemblance in the bends of the branches. As the light coats the leaves gently, she's nearly mislead into thinking they are made of gold.

She is quick to return to her apartment. Her case for today had been moved to next week, so she was free to do as she pleased. She pauses at the door. There's shifting and moans. Frowning, she throws the door right open. Ares looks up startled, and in a manner that is still somewhat charming, he offers her a slight grin. "Hello Mother."

Athena is positively mortified beneath him. A question is forming, but she quickly shakes her head. "Clothes now." She says firmly before heading toward the kitchen. It seemed she'd be cracking open that stashed bottle of wine early. They join her not a moment later, sufficiently clothed. She offers them glasses and adds a hint of ambrosia before she pours the wine. "I wasn't expecting you until the end of the month." She says. Ares shrugs, with an air of that boyish humor he'd never managed to shake. "We were in the area. I thought I'd stop by early." Ares tires of their catch up conversation easily. She's often found that unless words were exchanged with some sort of vehemence, he was inclined to slip away from the conversation in pursuit of something more riveting. He leaves her with Athena, mumbling about having left something or another last he was here. They stare at one another, and she feels a measure of satisfaction when Athena looks away first. She clears her throat. "I'm quite surprised you've both stayed together." Athena raises a brow. "But not surprised that it happened."

Hera sips the wine. "You bested him. Quite a feat, one that surely was never forgotten."

"And he bested me. War will fight war." She drinks thoughtful as Athena glances around her home. "I did not understand it all at first. I am no embodiment of love, but I have become its most astute student in that last millennia."

Hera frowns, suddenly irked by the tone Athena's voice had taken. "Pray tell. What does a 'virgin goddess' know of love?"

"A love that is not consumed with passion in flesh is still love." The retort is quick and sharp. Athena's wit has not failed her, even if Hera believes her mind has. "There is a love," she continues softly, "for one's self. There is a love between those too fearful to admit to it. There is a love in the kindred spirits, warriors with sharp blades." Their gaze meets again, and now there is no indication the gray eyed Goddess will flinch and turn away. "There is a love in equals." They hear his fast approaching footsteps. "I have been released from my vows." It's soft, low enough that it could almost have not been heard, but she hears it. Before she can even ask how, Athena is gone, meeting Ares on the steps, embracing as though they'd spent 10,000 years apart and not two minutes on different floors of the same house. Passion. Ares has taught her passion, while she has taught him restraint.

They are both gone the next day.

In the end, she caves and finds herself at Demeter's sprawling estate. She appreciates the swirling colors, the vibrance is almost reminiscent of gardens she, herself, used to keep. She meets Hestia at the gates, and they link arms and walk toward the heavenly smells coming from the house. Hestia eyes are nearly as bright as the flames that dance just under her skin. She's talking of her recent travels in South America, and all the families she'd managed to help build homes.

"I saw Hades."

Hera blinks, unsure she'd heard correctly. "Hades was topside?" Hestia nods, her own shock clear on her face. "It seems he's easing back into it, a few excursions every few decades." Hera steals a glance at Demeter, who has a ghost of a smile on her lips. She sips from her tea, thoughtfully. "I wonder where he got that idea." Hera finds all she can do is stare at the plate in front of her, her stomach no longer tempted by the alluring scent.

"What's troubling you?" Hestia asks later, lingering at the doorway to her guest bedroom. "I find it comical." She bites out as she continues to hang a few choice blouses in the closet. Demeter had insisted they stay the weekend, and she refused to keep her Gucci rumpled and folded. "Our moody, arrogant, angry brothers somehow working towards a change." Hestia moves to help her. Her fingers trace the patterns of a particular Michael Kors skirt. "I fail to see the humor in the situation." Hera turns and slams the closet shut. "The humor is that we all seem so enthused that they are doing the exact thing they should have done thousands of years ago. Why are we so proud of them for realizing their brokenness?"

"I am not proud. I love our brothers, surely I can support them."

"We all know what kind of love you hold for our brother." Singular. A cheap venomous dig that causes only a second of pain in Hestia's amber eyes. Hera turns away. "There's nothing wrong with still loving him." Hestia whispers. Her gaze moves to return to Hestia, but she finds she's alone.

She never spoke of it, but she met him once. It was sometime in the 60's, in some nameless street, where he was passed out across the slick pavement. He was practically drooling human drugs; pills and smoke at 1000 times the human dose; weak and swaying, with most of his powers tucked away or released for the time being. He'd appeared child like, an adolescent on the brink of adulthood. She'd nearly not recognized him. It made her wonder if perhaps this is how he'd been before she knew him; if this is how he'd been when he'd grown up practically alone out of their father's reach. She'd cleaned him up, pumped the human poisons from his veins and then left without a word. After it was when the calls had started.

She abandons all notions of sleep, when she closes her eyes and his eyes are there to greet her. It's around 4 am, when she silently leaves the house. A quick walk until Apollo brought the sun, breakfast with her sisters, and then an excuse about a court case, and she would be free to return to her empty home in the city, where she was able to ignore her demons without constant reminder.

She walks, and she can't recall when the ground became asphalt, and the asphalt became a street to town. She feels him before he speaks, millennia and still attuned to the aura around him. Zeus. His steps are slow, hesitant. Her feet are nailed to the ground, and that familiar action of moving her chest up and down for a breath is malfunctioning. "Hera." _It's a prayer. It's a plea. It's a name._ Her mouth remains shut as he now stands before her. Realizing her silence was in no danger of breaking, he continued. "I've been trying to talk to you."

"I know. I got the messages." She says finally. A strange look crosses his face, before it settles into an expression of curiosity. He's not a boy this time. No. This time he is a man. A man much more recognizable to her. The man she married. "If it was urgent, I imagine you wouldn't have left the answering up to me." It's sharp, but the words are drenched with truth, and he knows it. "Yet, I'm here now." he finally says. "And why is that? Have you grown tired of whatever child has been warming your bed?"

"There's been no one. You know that."

She does. The tiny stabs, like needles when he strayed, hadn't happened for decades. She'd only assumed he'd found ways to avoid that trigger, to sever their connection. Though it was a wishful thought. Their bond too tight to be so easily broken.

"You'll forgive me, if I'm simply surprised." He's still staring at her, intently almost unnervingly focused. "Is this to be a short visit, or is there something you need?" She says finally. He frowned. "Is it so hard to believe I missed you?"

She feels a flame begin beneath her skin. "Missed me? Save me dear husband the extent of your yearning."

The clouds are gathering, feeding from both of them. "We've been apart. I've given you space so that we could both find some semblance of peace before we ever met again."

She laughed then, the tension momentarily cut. "Peace," she howls, "I have been everything but at peace." His expression is soft, a sight that irks her to no end. "It must have been easy for you, to disregard any demons that had lurked in the shadows of your mind. You've always had a penchant for choosing what you heard or respected."

"You so easily forget that some of your demons are fashioned from your own hand." he fires back, "Do not toss blame around wherever it is convenient for you." There is open lightening now above them, and clouds so gray with the threat of bursting at the slightest flick of their wrists.

She's blind with anger, but it's mostly pain lacing her tongue. Tears long since shed are pooling at her eyes, but she refuses, will not entertain the notion, that she may cry. "You, who gave me dominion over a sacred right, marriage, all the while knowing my own was the biggest farce in history, how are you not to blame?"

She thought she was immune to suffering by now, believing that only dead things could be found in the hollowed cavities between the ichor in her chest. She's wrong though. So wrong. His eyes normally stormy, are still, and light, so light. "I am."

The clouds are gone from over head.

"You think I do not know." his face is leveled with hers, "the cost of my own arrogance? Perhaps the first time was a mistake, but not the second nor the third. By the time I realized what I'd begun I no longer cared about the consequences."

"What consequences?" she breathes eyes locked with his, "Who is there to punish a king?" There's sadness in his eyes, but a smile on his lips. "A king in name, but not in character. You think I did not hear what they all thought of me. There was always doubt wherever I was concerned, but not for you. No." He cups his hand around the curve of her jaw. Her skin humming at the slightest contact. "There has never been any doubt that you are a Queen." She closes her eyes briefly before she pulls away. "Yes, a cruel and unforgiving Queen."

"Perhaps cruel." he whispers finger beneath her chin, turning her to face him. "But not unforgiving. You have granted much more to me than I have ever earned."

"I could never stop myself from it." They are out too quick for her to even comprehend the implication. His eyes are wide. "Why not?"

 _There's nothing wrong with still loving him._

"You released Athena from her vows." She says instead. There's a flash of disappointment in his eyes, but he nods. "It seemed right. She and all the others deserve the right to choose."

She nods. "But why now?" He sighs glancing at the sky's above them, with just a hint of morning sunlight decorating the clouds. "Perhaps I wanted to try to be a just King for once." It's unspoken, what he truly means.

"All of it, it never mattered to me."

He studies her face. The same, yet so different from what he remembers. He can recognize that slight spark in her eyes, and for the moment it's not that those mere decades had passed from when she'd nursed him back to some notion of healthy, nor is it the thousands of years from when he actually understood her. Instead, it's a flash to the seconds in the beginnings of their courtship, those stolen moments of rare tenderness.

She's selfish. She always had been, and he can see her mind working to find some sort of justification for her words, her actions. It had never been about the wrong or right, but rather what had been done to her. He was even more so, power like nothing ever seen and too arrogant to ever learn humility. It's because he's selfish that he kneels down now, his forehead nearly leaning on hers. "Even after everything?"

"Why do you think it hurt so much?"

She surprises him, stealing the kiss first, but he easily takes control. She pulls away, her breathing in gasps, like a human. "I only ever wanted you to choose me."

"I know." he grips her hand before meeting his lips with hers one more time.

They are slow walking back to Demeter's. She doesn't seem the slight bit phased that they've both turned up at her doorstep in what can still be counted as the early hours of the day. Instead she flashes them a knowing smile that makes Hera question just how far her sister's hand reaches. She calls for Hestia to set another place at the table. It's about time for breakfast.


End file.
